


Corrected, completed, cared for

by anamia



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamia/pseuds/anamia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he's feeling sick, Enjolras wants nothing more than to be with his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corrected, completed, cared for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hamstr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamstr/gifts).



> Written as a gift for the fantastic Hammy. I haven't written sickfic in ages (and haven't admitted to writing it in longer) but it's always been a guilty pleasure of mine, so it was fun to get to write this.

Enjolras woke one morning in early winter with a pounding headache and eyes that ached when he pried them open. He did not have to be a medical student to diagnose himself with the minor illness that had been going around the city ever since the first freeze and he permitted himself a long sigh. He did not have time to be ill, not with exams just around the corner and the streets of Paris filled with tension that grew with each passing day. With a scowl he forced himself to sit up and dress for the day, movements as sluggish as his thoughts. He fumbled with the laces of his boots, fingers clumsy and headache made worse by having to lean over.

He made it through most of the day in something of a blur, resting on his reputation and what eloquence he could muster to get through his classes. His headache intensified throughout the day, joined by a throat that burned and could be soothed by no amount of water. He and Combeferre had no matching free hours, not even at lunch, and Enjolras missed his friend terribly. He wanted nothing more than to curl up next to Combeferre and go to sleep for several days, but there were things to do and responsibilities to uphold and they both had work that had to be finished. It would be selfish to let down all those counting on them both just because Enjolras wasn’t feeling at his best.

The meeting that night was low key, thankfully, more a chance to touch base with each other than plan anything in particular. Enjolras sat himself down in a corner and drew his books around him protectively, keeping most of his attention on the door as he waited for Combeferre. His friend entered the room a few minutes later, talking animatedly with Joly. Enjolras could not hear their conversation from his position but it must have been truly engrossing, because they sat down at a table together without pausing once. Bossuet drifted over to join them, while Feuilly hovered a little ways away, listening in intently. Enjolras normally would have gone to them as well – anything that interested Combeferre that much was bound to be fascinating at the very least and most likely highly useful – but moving presented a daunting task and he still had to walk home later in the evening. He bowed his head over his books again and pretended to study.

Combeferre broke away from his conversation about half an hour later and crossed over to Enjolras’ table, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Enjolras looked up, feeling an almost overwhelming amount of relief wash through him at his friend’s closeness.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre asked quietly, sitting down at the table. “Are you well?”

“I… have been better,” Enjolras admitted, wincing at the pain in his throat caused by speaking. He swallowed in a fairly ineffective attempt to soothe it.

Combeferre reached out and took one of his hands, cool fingers closing around Enjolras’ wrist and making the latter shiver. “You don’t have a fever,” Combeferre murmured. “When did this start?”

“This morning.”

Combeferre glanced up at his face as though checking to make sure he told the truth. Enjolras, who never lied to Combeferre, met his eyes almost pleadingly. Combeferre nodded and rose, letting go of Enjolras’ hand. “I’ll get your coat,” he said.

Enjolras tracked his friend’s movements, watching as he pulled Courfeyrac aside to murmur something and then, voice louder, added something about needing a reference text from Enjolras’ rooms immediately. Courfeyrac glanced back at Enjolras, concern creasing his features, then nodded, clapping Combeferre’s shoulder and laughing audibly about obsessive students who never took the time to rest. Combeferre smiled back and fetched their coats. When he returned to the table he handed Enjolras’ over and swept his books into Enjolras’ bag, shouldering it before Enjolras could object.

They set a slow pace on the way back to Enjolras’ rooms and Enjolras hunched into his coat, colder than he should be considering the temperature. “What were you talking about with Joly?” he asked, hoping to distract himself until they could reach the warmth of his rooms. Combeferre’s presence was already soothing his mind considerably, though his body continued to make its displeasure and indisposition obvious.

“Untreated flesh wounds,” Combeferre said, and the very casualness with which he tossed off the gruesome sentence provoked laughter from Enjolras. The laughter quickly turned into coughing that sent tendrils of agony shooting down his throat. Combeferre paused in his step, frowning as Enjolras recovered his breath. “No more talking until we get home,” he said firmly.

Enjolras nodded, swallowing repeatedly. He was still shivering. Combeferre wound an arm around his waist, drawing him closer as they started walking again. Enjolras leaned into his friend, letting Combeferre support some of his weight.

Combeferre let them into Enjolras’ rooms, having long since acquired his own key. He directed Enjolras to the sofa and turned to start making tea. He ducked into Enjolras’ room and reemerged with a blanket, which he wrapped firmly around Enjolras’ body, brushing Enjolras’ hair away from his face with a gentle hand as he did so. Whether it was the coolness of his touch or just his closeness Enjolras couldn’t tell, but Combeferre’s touch seemed to make his headache lessen slightly.

Combeferre poured them both tea and came to sit down next to Enjolras, setting both cups down on the table in front of them. Enjolras wasted no time burrowing into his friend’s side, resting his head against Combeferre as though he were a small child. Combeferre wrapped an arm around him again.

“You should sleep if you can,” Combeferre murmured. “It will help.”

“Will you stay?” Enjolras asked, and coughed again, stiffening as he tried to stop.

“Don’t talk,” Combeferre said gently, loosening the blanket slightly to help Enjolras recover his breath. “I will stay.”

Enjolras let his eyes drift closed, relaxing as he did around no one but Combeferre. The latter laced his fingers through Enjolras’ and drew him closer, dropping a kiss on the crown of Enjolras’ head. He reached out and grasped his mug of tea, taking a small sip as beside him Enjolras slipped into proper sleep, hand gripping Combeferre’s tightly.


End file.
